


take a peek

by viirago



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27476740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viirago/pseuds/viirago
Summary: They catch glimpses of her over the years. Never enough to get the whole picture, but just enough to keep them interested.
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger/Dean Thomas, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley, Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom
Comments: 9
Kudos: 124





	take a peek

There was something about the third task, about the mystery of it all and the grandeur, that put Cedric on edge just a little bit. The stakes were always going to be high, he knew that, but something about the approaching task rattled him to the core, like there was a significance attached to it further than just the idea of winning and emerging victorious.

As soon as that feeling announced itself, Cedric cemented himself in the back corner of the library, a space he usually tended to avoid (for it was usually occupied by Ravenclaws attacking their homework with an alarming ferocity, or couples who thought it funny to sit there attached to each others faces and incur the wrath of Madam Pince). Cho had tagged along only once, though when it was clear she was more of a distraction than a helpful hand, he'd politely asked her to stop coming so he could properly focus.

In the end it was just Cedric, hunched over various open books, with a permanent furrow on his brow.

Then one afternoon he walked into the area he'd claimed for himself only to find the table already occupied, by Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley of all people. Cedric paused, for a moment not entirely sure where to go now that _his_ table was already claimed, before Hermione suddenly raised her voice and he jerked to spin around and face one of the shelves, pretending he was searching for a book instead.

"Ron, honestly," Hermione hissed, just loud enough for Cedric to catch, "don't you care about Harry at all?"

"You know I do, but I don't know why we have to sit here and do _research_ for him!" Ron replied, with obvious frustration.

Hermione simply sniffed, as if the answer should've been obvious. "It's called being _helpful,_ Ron, and it might do you some good to learn how to do that every once in a while. Obviously Harry is worrying himself silly over the last task, which I can't exactly blame him for since the previous two have been positively _dreadful,_ but since he's too preoccupied with his own feelings, it'll be up to us to help him in any way that we can, don't you think?"

Ron grumbled, his voice low and angry. Cedric only managed to catch the tail end of what he said, which was something like, "...useless at research! If you're so determined then just get on with it on your own, no need to drag me along with you every time!"

A sharp, pronounced kind of silence followed after that, and Cedric tried not to flinch at the stifling atmosphere that suddenly took over. Luckily, the moment passed quickly, Hermione's voice cutting clear across to him. "Well, Ronald, if that's really how you feel then by all means, _go._ "

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor and faint grumbling could be heard before Ron was walking right past Cedric, muttering obscenities to himself under his breath as he went.

Cedric waited for a bit, and when he heard nothing after that, he slowly turned back around to the table, his eyes catching the movement of Hermione's wand as she twirled it between her fingers. He hadn't known what to expect, but the absolute storm that her expression had twisted up into was certainly a surprise. She was casually toying with her wand in one hand, while wearing an expression that told Cedric she promised murder for whoever would cross her next.

He must've accidentally made some sort of sound then, because all of a sudden her eyes were snapping up to meet his, and his breath caught in his throat. The intensity in her gaze, the fire behind her eyes, it was oddly enthralling, and he felt a little jolt of _something_ shoot up his spine. He felt pinned under her heavy look, but was strangely content to stay there, and let her pick him apart with her eyes, and- and was that attraction, that he was feeling? Was that anticipation?

Before he could properly get a hold of his own feelings, and what just transpired in that moment, her eyes began to soften, and she drew back into herself. Cedric felt as if she just shut him out, projecting her usual polite and indifferent mask.

He had the strange urge to try and make her angry again just so he could see that look on her face once more, but refrained from doing so, knowing that it would likely do him more harm than good. Instead, he simply offered her a somewhat awkward nod of his head in acknowledgement before turning around and fleeing the library all together, hoping he hadn't been too obvious and she hadn't noticed how her stare almost turned his legs to jelly.

As Cedric walked down the empty corridor, cheeks flushed for some reason, he had the faint impression that he might never forget the way her eyes looked back there, and that he might spend the rest of his life wishing to see them again.

*

Neville had a habit of mumbling to himself when he read. It was always easier to retain the information that way, by saying it to himself under his breath as he was reading.

No one said anything about it, not yet anyway, so Neville paid no mind to the people around him in the common room as he muttered under his breath the ingredients needed to make a befuddlement draught, making sure to go over everything twice before he flipped the page and moved on. It was while he was in the middle of grasping just how much scurvy grass he needed to add in when Hermione dropped into the seat beside him.

At first, he made no move to acknowledge her, figuring that she was probably there to get away from Harry and Ron for a minute and would probably have her own head buried in a book. But then she'd made this little noise, this soft sniffling type of sound, and Neville's head popped up in surprise. Then he took in the way she curled up into herself on the armchair, the way her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and he swallowed, uncertain, and more than a little uncomfortable.

"Hermione?" He asked, closing his potions book gently, hoping he wouldn't somehow make this all _worse._

Hermione jerked her head, stiffening up for a moment before turning her face to Neville with an awkward, stilted kind of smile. "Sorry, Neville, did I interrupt?"

Neville shook his head, and wondered for a moment about how to properly approach the topic of a crying girl. "No, no, it's fine. Are you... are you alright, Hermione?"

As soon as he'd asked the question, Hermione clammed up, and for a moment Neville thought she might just up and bolt. But then she seemed to run it through her head for a bit before finally dropping her shoulders and sinking further into her chair, sighing as she did so.

"Everything's just so..." She hesitated for a moment there, as if judging whether Neville was worthy to know of this little secret of hers or not before continuing, " _awful._ I love Hogwarts, I really do, but Umbridge is making everything so _impossible!_ And I- I _know_ that she's hurting students, which is _illegal,_ but I can't even do anything about it because it was the ministry who'd sent her here in the first place! It just... lately it just feels like everything's bubbling and boiling and one day everything will overflow and I'll just _explode._ I can feel it. I'm getting so impatient and paranoid and Harry and Ron can see it too, it's why they've taken to avoiding me now, and I _know it,_ I know I'm being frustrating and exhausting but I just can't help it!"

Neville tried not to gape as Hermione continued to speak, the tears welling up in her eyes beginning to fall fast, and seemingly unnoticed by the girl herself. He'd known that things were weighing terribly on the trio this year, Harry especially, but he hadn't known that Hermione had seemingly taken so many things on herself, that she seemed on the brink of bursting. He was used to Hermione being well put together and self assured, he wasn't used to seeing her this vulnerable, this frazzled and lost. For a second he felt pleased, glad that she trusted him enough to show this side of herself to him, but then her words began to fade and she was just sobbing now and Neville was struck again by the thought that she was a _girl_ who was _crying_ and he had no idea what to do.

He fumbled, dropping his potions book to the floor as he rummaged around his bag for something to offer Hermione so she could dry her tears. In the end all he could find was a spare shirt he had stored away that he hastily transfigured into a small handkerchief, which he then passed onto her as she mumbled her thanks under her breath.

Hermione wiped at her eyes carefully, huffing as she attempted to stop her tears. When she did finally manage to stop crying, her eyes now dry but red and puffy, she handed Neville's handkerchief back to him sheepishly. "That was some nice transfiguration work, Neville."

Neville found himself blushing, to his own embarrassment, and mumbled a _you're welcome_ before turning his handkerchief back into a shirt and shoving it back into his bag.

"You'll be alright, you know." He said, after a brief pause. "If there's anyone that can make it out of this smarter, and stronger for it in the end, I know it's you, Hermione."

Hermione stopped to look at Neville, as if she didn't really believe him, but she must've found some confirmation in Neville's gaze, because she suddenly laughed. It wasn't her usual kind of laughter, the loud, shoulder shaking guffaws she usually showed around Harry and Ron. This kind of laughter was softer, quieter, a tinkling sound so close to a giggle but with a Hermione specific flare that made it seem unlike any other sound Neville's ever heard from a girl before.

There was something shocking about it, the image of Hermione who just a moment ago been crying her eyes out but was now laughing whole heartedly as if she was oh so delighted. There was also something mesmerising about it, about the sound of her genuine laughter, and knowing that he had caused it. It filled him with a welcoming sort of warmth, and Neville would've worried that it was the stirrings of a crush, if he hadn't so thoroughly convinced himself that Hermione definitely couldn't be _his,_ not when Harry and Ron were around.

He'd settle for that moment, though, for keeping that image of Hermione to himself. And if maybe, in a few years, he realises it was silly to have dismissed the possibility of chasing after her so quickly, he'll be ready to hear that laugh once again.

*

Fred didn't meant to peek. Really, he didn't.

It wasn't his fault that Harry and Hermione chose _that_ specific day to visit. It was even less his fault that Hermione ran right into the kid that decided to try out the Self-Propelling Custard Pie. And it still wasn't his fault that Hermione then needed to run up to the bathroom in their flat above the shop to get the mess off the front of her shirt. Although, arguably, he _was_ somewhat responsible for forgetting that she'd been in the bathroom at that moment in time, thus leading to him _accidentally_ catching a glimpse of Hermione with her shirt off.

She must've figured no one would bother coming up here at this time (whether because she knew the shop was still busy or because she gave Fred's memory more credit than it deserved he'll never know) because she hadn't bothered to shut the door all the way, instead leaving a little crack where Fred could just make out the sight of her bare back. It was a good thing she was facing _away_ from the door, or else she would've most likely hexed his bollocks off when she realised he'd stood there for a moment, frozen stiff, just _staring._

Fred was, as Hermione had called him many times in the past, a _menace._ But usually, he was a good bloke. Respectful. Mostly. Peeping was definitely something that Fred had never once considered doing. He was good enough at charming clothing off of women on his own without having to resort to underhanded tactics, thank you very much. But as he stood there, rooted to the spot, eyes fixed to the slip of skin he could see through the crack of the door, he wasn't exactly in any place to proclaim his innocence.

Hermione, in the mean time, was humming an unfamiliar tune under her breath as she took her time in the bathroom. She paused for a moment, seemingly to check on her reflection in the mirror, before reaching over to somewhere Fred couldn't see and plucking her bra out from wherever she put it. Then she was slipping the bra on, clasping it behind her back, and it was at that point that Fred had finally felt his breath return to him.

As if having been snapped out of a daze, the sound of her bra clasp clicking as it latched on had Fred stumbling back a few steps until he couldn't see her through the opening anymore. He still wasn't fully right in his mind, not enough to remember to walk back down the stairs, but enough to realise what just happened, and enough for his face to burn uncomfortably.

He pulled at the collar of his shirt, marvelling at what he'd just seen.

Hermione had never been much of a girl to him until that moment. She was always, and (he used to believe) would _always_ be, Ron's swotty little friend. Seeing her in any form of undress never even crossed his mind. Obviously, until he'dseen it. And he hadn't even seen much, just the smooth strip of skin off her back, but enough that he was sure he'd have the image of it burned into his mind permanently. He blinked, trying to will away the image of the small cluster of freckles he saw near her shoulder, or the dip near the low of her back that had his mind wandering even _lower._

Instead of forgetting, his body instead reacted by heating up even further, and Fred frowned to himself. He'd been around girls before, he'd _seen_ girls before (and much more of them too), so why was the mere image of Hermione's back getting him all hot and bothered?

Unfortunately, before he could ponder it any further, Hermione was swinging the door open and stepping out. She'd put her shirt back on too.

Fred ignored the brief flash of disappointment he felt at that.

"Fred!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked. "You scared me! What are you doing up here?"

Fred was silent for a moment, before breaking out into one of his signature grins (and if this particular one was one he usually reserved for flirting well... Hermione didn't have to know). "This _is_ my flat, you know? I do live here, Hermione."

Hermione only huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Don't deflect, Fred Weasley, I know you too well for that. If you thought you could sneak in a prank on me while I was up here, then you were sorely mistaken! I won't fall for it."

Fred simply laughed, letting her believe her own assumption. The reality of what he was doing there probably wouldn't make her any happier, anyway. Hermione, in response, merely glared at him for a second, before turning her nose up in the air and brushing right past him.

He let her leave, and then wondered to himself if he might be able to get her shirt off with his own hands next time.

*

Something was shifting, that much Dean could tell. His world was slowly, very slowly, tilting on its axis, and he was afraid to put a name to it.

He'd been thinking about it for a while, actually. Lying awake at night and staring at nothing and thinking _is this what war feels like?_ before he'd catch Ron snoring and his thoughts would turn abruptly to something much safer. But then he'd been getting those thoughts more and more often lately, and he felt he could no longer deny it. It was slow going, which took him by slight surprise. He had expected it to be sudden, and quick, and that one morning he'd just wake up to death eaters staring him down and he'd have his wand in his hand and he'd just _go._

Instead of that, Hogwarts was quiet. Like it was just inching, taking its time to build up towards that big something. He felt in the heavy silences in the common room, he saw it in Harry's eyes, he heard it in the uncharacteristically quiet way Malfoy spoke. And all Dean was left with, was the thought that he wasn't ready, and that he really, _really_ missed his mother.

It was a strange feeling, he thought, to miss his mother so much, but he did. He missed when he was barely tall enough to reach over the kitchen counters and would ask her a million questions as she prepared dinner for the both of them. He missed when he used to play football with the other kids in his neighbourhood and when she'd frown at the new scratches on his knees and elbows. He missed everything his life used to be before Hogwarts, before magic.

It wasn't even that he hated being a wizard. He _loved_ it. It was just that things were so much _easier_ before he found out he was one.

When those thoughts began to eat away at him, chipping at his composure enough that he felt so very tired and exposed, he snuck out of his bed and down to the kitchens. He hadn't thought to visit much in the years before, but with the way the current year was unfolding, he felt himself more and more leaving the comfort of his bed and his room to sit in the kitchens and stuff himself with biscuits as he watched the house elves work away.

He'd regarded the location of the kitchens as a little secret he kept to himself, so he was more than surprised when he walked in to find Hermione already there, on her knees and chatting away merrily to one of the elves.

Dean stood still at the doorway, hovering awkwardly as he watched Hermione interact with the elf. It was clear that she was teaching him something, her smile wide and her hands gesturing wildly. Dean felt an odd sort of comfort seeing this display, like he found comfort in knowing that even though the world was changing and warping around them, that Hermione would always be the same. Compassionate, caring, and kind.

There was so much space in her heart and her head for other people that sometimes it baffled him. He hadn't really thought about it much, but now that he was watching as she interacted so freely with a house elf that most people would simply overlook or ignore, he couldn't ignore the admiration that crept up on him. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to have that kind of care and passion extended to him, but he batted that thought away almost as quick as it popped up.

"Sir has come to visit the elves again!" Another elf exclaimed, loud enough to jostle Hermione and have her freeze mid sentence.

Dean coughed, somewhat awkwardly, and stepped forward. "Hey, Tibby. 'm not bothering you, am I?"

Tibby shook his head vehemently, clearly overjoyed that Dean decided to visit again. "No, Sir! Tibby is happy to see you! Would Sir like something to eat?"

"'Course. I'll have the usual, Tibby. Thanks." Dean replied, grinning.

Hermione had clearly finished saying whatever it was she was saying to the elf she was speaking to. By the time Dean finished talking to Tibby and sat down at the table, she'd already occupied one of the seats, nursing a cup of tea in her hands.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Hermione." Dean commented. He was never really good with silences, comfortable or not.

Hermione looked at him carefully, as if wondering whether he approached her with friendly intentions or not. "I could say the same about you, Dean."

"I've been living here, pretty much, since the start of the year. There's just something kind of comforting about sitting here and watching the elves work. I think it's 'cause I used to follow my mum around the kitchen so much when I was younger. It's kind of like that, watching the elves work, though not exactly the same. That make sense?"

Hermione nodded, as if she understood exactly what he meant.

Tibby walked over just a bit later, a tray of biscuits in his hands. Dean took it from him gratefully, and then nudged Hermione to let her know she was welcome to the biscuits as well.

They ended up spending the rest of the night just talking to each other. They spoke about things they missed from the muggle world, discussing films they'd seen that they haven't been able to discuss with anyone else. Dean had never spent a moment like this with Hermione before, where it was just the two of them and they just talked, about nothing, about everything. She was his friend, of course, in that vague sort of distant way, the way that every other Gryffindor was also his friend.

He'd enjoyed talking to her though, maybe a bit more than he expected, and the whole time that they were sitting in their little bubble, chatting away, he'd forgotten completely about the rest of the world. The fog that had settled over him earlier was seemingly completely lifted, and he was glad to be away from it, even knowing that the moment they both stepped back out of the room, it would just roll back in again.

After, when they're both back in the common room, they whispered goodbyes to each other under their breaths before Hermione paused for a moment. Before he could ask why, she was suddenly stepping close and leaning up to brush her lips against his cheek. "Goodnight, Dean." She said again, her cheeks dusted pink, and then made her way up the stairs to the girls' dorm.

Dean went to bed that night, lighter than air, and thought of the way Hermione looked in the kitchens as she rolled her eyes at one of his awful jokes until he fell asleep.

*

They don't all come together until Hermione's wedding, which she had invited them all to, of course.

Dean frowned as he fussed with his cuffs, only a little bitter that he wouldn't be the one to greet her at the end of the aisle. Fred, beside him, was silently sharing his commiseration. They'd both tried, at some point after the war was over. There was one point where Fred had thought he might just make it, but then it had turned out Hermione's unusual attention on him was merely due to the fact that he'd almost died, and he realised he was already out of the running. Dean was somewhat luckier, managing to actually sneak a few not-so-date dates in, taking Hermione out and giving her a good time, but then before long, and before he'd realised, he had simply been saddled with the label of _close friend_ , and he'd never quite been able to recover from that.

A hush descended, causing Fred and Dean to turn their heads towards the doors. Breaths held, they waited, and then a few moments later Hermione was stepping through. Her face was covered by a veil, but even then she looked beautiful. Dean felt that regret rushing back in again, poking at him and asking him why he hadn't made a move earlier, when he had so much more of a chance, before she'd been swept up and away. Fred's ability to retain any coherent thoughts had flown out the window the moment she had stepped into his line of sight.

All eyes were on her as she slowly walked her way down the aisle, nothing to be heard but the music from the piano and the birds outside. Harry was grinning from his spot where Hermione's maid of honour should have been ("I'm no maid, but... if you'll have me, 'Mione?"), Ron wearing a matching expression of glee from where he was standing as one of her bridesmaids ("A bridesmaid? Isn't it a little too... _girly_ of a role for a me to- _whoa_ wait wait, hold on, I never said I wouldn't do it!").

After what felt like a small eternity, Hermione had finally made it up to the front, and beamed as her groom removed her veil.

They made quick work of the vows, Hermione's smile still wide and glowing throughout the whole thing, and even though Dean's heart twinged just a bit, he was still mostly, definitely, happy for her. Fred, beside him, was still reeling over how gorgeous she looked.

"Do you Cedric Diggory, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?"

Cedric smiled, in that way that always used to have the witches at Hogwarts swooning. "I do."

Neville sniffed from somewhere in the front row, trying not to get overly emotional about it all. He'd been surprised when Hermione first informed him of her relationship with Cedric, but apparently as soon as the war was over, he was back at Hogwarts, helping rebuild, and it was during that time that they had both really gotten to know each other. They'd met before, during her fourth year, but only briefly, and in passing.

They'd gotten to know each other properly then, as they were working to fix Hogwarts together, and apparently he'd managed to charm the pants right off her, getting her to promise him a Saturday night for dinner not even two days after meeting her again. Neville was more than happy for her, when she'd told him about it, knowing that Cedric was a good man, and that Hermione would be more than okay in his hands. It had been a little awkward, because he'd been in the middle of getting over his (not so little, as it turned out) crush on her, but it had all worked out in the end.

Neville met Cedric once too, before the wedding, during Hermione's birthday celebration. He'd gotten to chatting with Cedric as Hermione was away somewhere discussing work things with Harry, and Cedric had recounted to him when he first _really_ saw Hermione. It had been a lone, fleeting moment, but apparently the moment had stayed with Cedric for a long time. Secretly, Neville thought it was kind of romantic, like something out of a story. Two lovers meeting once, when they were too young to know proper romance, and then meeting once again when they got older, turning that spark from the day they first met into a burning flame.

It turned out Hermione had remembered that encounter in the library too, and that she'd been just as caught in Cedric's gaze as he'd been with hers. It never blossomed into a crush for her, but that was only because she knew he had Cho at the time and she _refused_ to let herself have any feelings for someone who was already taken.

The more Neville thought about it, the more it felt like maybe they were always meant to get here.

"Do you Hermione Jean Granger, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." Hermione announced, clear, smiling so brightly that Neville was almost lost in it for a moment.

Later that afternoon, Hermione walked away a Diggory. The other three men, her once what ifs, they watched the retreating forms of the newly wedded couple with one thought in mind: _that could've been me_.

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps this is just a personal love letter to Hermione, and my way of highlighting all the aspects of her that I love.
> 
> (Plus making Cedric/Hermione a thing because they're underrated and I think they'd be quite good together.)


End file.
